


You don't want to be alone

by Arizona_Hotline



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Disturbing Themes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Polyamory, Soulmate AU, Suggestive Themes, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Underage Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12681306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arizona_Hotline/pseuds/Arizona_Hotline
Summary: 'If they liked it or not, the Losers club were bound togheter for life. You could even say for eternity, it adds to the tension.'It so happened that fighting that wrenched nightmare fuel of a clown would lead to an unspoken bond between all the losers club. It couldn't be described, almost like an invisible rope tied them togheter with a fancy knot. If one of the members felt pain, inevitably, the rest of them would feel a sting of pain rush through their bodies. It's been almost five years since they fought that flexible fucker, all of them where almost 18, their bond never broke.(Beware: I will be keeping a few things from the book in here, like the 'kid orgy', simply because I'm fascinated with writing how the kids deal with this in their mind etc, you have been warned this will be triggering)





	1. The eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I want to forgive myself in advance for the gazillion of grammatical errors I will make, truly not a prodigy in writing. This story will have a reader in it of course, I will be using she/her pronouns but please feel free to imagine the reader as any gender! 
> 
> I will be cutting out Mike and Ben from the story because I don't think I can handle that many characters, I just whish to focus on the main kids of the losers club.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Description of the Losers club current state and a few flashbacks to their reaction to when they defeated It and how it affected them.

Nothing would ever be the same and they all knew it. They could certainly act like everything was the same, but it was clear as day and it reflected in each of their eyes, that they were damaged. They were just plain traumatised. As many times Tozier would joke about pounding Kaspbrak's mom, it wasn't the same as before, no longer just an innocent lighthearted joke, they could all laugh and chuckle but their hearts were heavy. It didn't feel like it did before. Even if they all knew this atrocious pain, they never did confront themselves about it. They just seemed to speak about it through their eyes, it sounds pathetic to say the least.

Sometimes, it felt like they were spectators to the world going around them. Dissociation was a common thing through out their regular mundane days. Didn't seem that they would move on from that battle, the confrontation between their fears incarnated and the 'thing', it had truly messed them up to their very core.

They coudnt admit it, pride was still a thing somehow, but they were still shaken by it, never opening their mouth about the encounter to not be sent to an insane asylum. Their parents had noticed the shift in their children's actions, their flinching at their very sweet and delicate touch, but they alas never spoke about their pertubing thoughts as well. It was all in the eyes, the children saw it in their parents eyes, perhaps it was sorrow. 

The gang still spent quality wholesome time togheter, waltzing around their town like they owned it, joking and kidding around, still young deep down and it showed. Their childish antics surged out of their bodies each time they could run around the small town and curse, biking around the houses, flirting and shouting. Sometimes it felt like they passed the very feeling. In those moments, it only felt like they were there. On the ground. Feeling alive. Breathing.

 _Whether_ _they liked it or not, the Losers club were bound togheter for life. You could even say for eternity, it adds to the tension_.They just couldn't seem to part their ways, they always ended up drawn against each other like opposite magnets. It felt right and wrong at the same time, something otherworldly, their secret.

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Eddie Kaspbrak was the first to speak up, after the encounter with the 'who will not be named', shaken and wide eyed. "My mom's gonna kill me" He had whispered, quite cliché if I may add, but he truly didn't even seem worried about his mom it was mostly just a statement to break the ice cold silence. He looked truly destroyed, his wide unblinking eyes stared ahead at nothing in particular, he just looked terribly lost in his own mind and thoughts.

 _He was just a kid, forced to grow up too early_.

He didn't look at his friends, especially Beverly, not her. _He wouldn't dare_. After that sewer filled orgy, the fanny pack boy wasn't responsive much, always staring at something in the distance, it was hard to point out what exactly was going through his mind. Perhaps nothing at all. Just void. He shredded his own skin, becoming a lifeless punching bag that just followed around. A ghost of the boy he used to be. Everyone could see it, but nobody said anything, again, eyes.

He slowly got better, he seemed to need to grow back in his very own body, to get used to his flesh and surroundings. He looked all well recovered after a few years, crawling back to his old antics, his nostalgic ranting about germs. The kids didn't mind his old ranting, they actually seemed to encourage it at some points, desperately in need of everything to feel normal. 

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Richie Tozier was on his very knees on the shit filled liquid, his own puke peacefully swirling around in the green colored water. He really did look like a porcelain doll, fragile and soft looking. After the strong fight he had put up he truly did lose it, but not in angry way, in a defeated and traumatised manner. That strong and confident mask he had probably worked on for years had shattered at his feet. He sobbed, his own mind repeating the word 'pathetic' like a broken record, he couldn't fathom how he would live with himself after such an incident.

_He felt dirty._

_All over._

He felt itchy, relentlessly scratching his own body. It was all in his fucked up head, his own twisted mind. Right then and there, staring in his friends eyes, he wanted to die. It was probably his fault, he believed that it was, for some unexplainable way, he just felt it in the back of his head. For awhile (replace it with: for a long time) he continously tripped over his own words, his infamous cheeky jokes became an unfamiliar tongue twister to his mouth, his distinctive signature flirtatious lines were scrambled and usually left unfinished. He couldn't joke about fucking without quickly glancing over Marsh's body.

He felt dirty. He couldn't help looking at all of his friends in a different light. It was utterly painful but he just smiled. He thought it would go away, especially that voice. He then picked himself up again, deciding he had fallen for way too long, it felt forced an unnatural but it was needed. He wasn't a baby.

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 Now now, Bill Denbrough had really felt torn between what he felt that he _needed to feel_. Complicated boy indeed. He kept feeling his eyes darting around the very outside of the cursed sewers, especially nailing Beverly Marsh, the young teen that not so long ago had offered a fucking orgy to escape the sewers. Was he supposed to feel greatful that he had touched the girl he liked? No, that was plain fucked up.

Disgusting boy. 

He felt his head go heavy, vision fuzzy and everything felt unreachable. He felt an indescribable pain bash him like a bat in the back of his head. The realisation of the reality that surrounded him, what had just happened etc, had just hit him all at once. He had started to stumble around, stepping his untied sneakers in the tall green grass, looking around himself to attempt to find something. What was that something? It could have been nothing as well. Scared, he was definitely scared, even scarred. He felt like he was hyperventilating, he felt too many things. Too many things at once that individually beaten into his very skull, seeping through the cracks and damaging his once pure mind.

That fucking clown man.

Just like the rest of the gang, he had to pull himself from the ground quick, before someone had pulled him to a therapist to question his fumbling actions and irregular sleeping pattern. Slowly but surely he stopped stuttering, it was odd but time to time he would pick back on his old stuttering roots.

_Nothing really did change. Not really if you think about it. Right?_

_\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Stanley Uris was a 'man' of faith, but he really belive in that moment, that moment in which he zapped out of the shit stained sewer, that God hated his very existance. He was on the floor, fumbling around to stand on his feet and act like the strong man. But he was only 13, only a child. He was half naked, attempting to pull his shirt over his exposed chest, he felt impure. He swallowed the lump of bile that was pushing it's way up his throat, he silently gagged to himself, feeling like he was going to choke and end up dying out of embarrassment and shame from his dirty and lewd actions. But he made it out alive?

God was probably putting him through one of his many trials and tests in life! That old white bearded fuck was at it again!

He chuckled to himself, laughing at his poorly constructed 'joke', the one he made in his head and that no one else would comprehend. He and God had a pretty tight relationship, no? Him being a possible future rabbi probably put him up there with Jesus? Certainly, of course. He was a good boy no doubt. Uris practically dragged himself willingly down a repetitive and blind spiral of lying to himself, even if he wasn't even happy with his own lies nor did they better his beaten up mood, he still continued. What a trooper! Eventually, after months of forcing himself to study his verses from the Torrah and getting on his trembling knees to praise God to forgive him, he lied himself happy.

He took a metaphorical and figurative happy pill. Forcing himself in his old shoes, his habits, his every, and he eventually 'won' this imaginary war with himself. Or at least he just waved a white flag and the enemy still has to step in his territory to overtake it, but for now he lived in the momentary bliss that he had created.

  _\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The girl was hysterical, Beverly Marsh looked nuts. The look in her eyes, that's what gave it away, it was distinctive. You could tell from far away, if you just squinted and was in the right mind, that she was crazy in that moment. Her hair was messy, red strands of hair poking out, was this sex hair? Was there even such a thing?

Beverly was in a loss of words, currently processing what had happened, she immediately remembered her father and how he would annihilate her for this. For what she did in order to get out of a sewer. Then she reminded herself that he was probably dead, she would have a lot of cleaning up to do that day uh? What a busy gal, look at her go. She touched her face, cupping her own hands around her tear stained cheeks, now big girls don't cry do they? She kept touching herself, digging her nails in her white soft skin, just to feel something, was she just numb? 

 _Numb_.

She tasted that word in her mouth, audibly repeating it out loud to process it, to fully devour and grasp it like a well cooked stake. Compliments to the chef. She silently listened to Eddie and the gang ramble out anxious nonsense, her world was silently swirling around her, feeling herself swim around everything else. She felt like she would float! Like she was the only thing in the room. It was alienating. Probably the rest of the gang would never look at her the same way.

She was going to be the tiniest animal at the bottom of the food chain, the slave of the social ladder, the loser loser. The worst of the worst. She silently started to cry, clear tears sliding off her cheeks. She slaps herself, slapping some sense into herself. She did it again.

_And again._

_And again_.

It was scarily helping her, it sorta hurt her.

Hurt. Now taste that word. 

She was going to recover from this! Of course, yes. She seemed to follow a daily routine of slapping herself each time she felt like she was falling in the 'numbness pit'. It helped her, at leads it worked for her. It was definitely better than cutting yourself, slapping was efficient and momentary, no scars for her. You've heard of cutting yourself to bliss, now listen to slapping yourself to another dimension! She went back to her old habits, smoking here and there to relieve some stress, like a true girl. She really did grow up. Daddy would be proud.

   _\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

 The last member, (Y/n) (l/n), just cowered in a corner. Hugging her knees to her chest, rocking herself back and forward in an unnerving way. How could rocking yourself back in forth be unnerving? It just was. She didn't dare to stare upwards, feeling eyes bore into her skin and refusing to confront if her observation. Silently cradling herself, she didn't come to the realisation that it was quite depressing abd pitiful the way she just engulfed her body in a lonely hug, shuddering. Could it get any sadder than this? Yes it could, but let's keep the drammatical tone going on. She wasn't even aware of what was going around her, she had the ability to shut everything out if she just refused to listen.

She would be the best x-man if they were a thing, ' _yes hello, I can block the world out whenever I feel down or just in the mood to not give a fuck, please I need to pay for my rent take me in'._

What a brilliant joke, Richie Tozier? I'm sorry, but there is a new mom fucker in town, (Y/n) (l/n). How incredibly devastated do you have to be do mentally make jokes to lift up your confidence? How stupid would that be to do. She hadn't realised she was shaking like a leaf, her hands violently vibrating like a ringing phone, it was odd.

For the next days, she was a shaking leaf, cringing and dodging any sort of human contact, being unable to control herself and failing to contain various panic attacks. It was use impossible to not sleep in the night with a clear image of your very own fear staring at you, the attack of the clown was still stamped in her mind, like she was watching a movie on repeat. She didn't do much to avoid it. She got used to it. 

Yeah, she got used to it.

And she too moved pass the feeling, even if she knew that it still lingered with her, the long cold bony fingers of that memory, she simoly pushed forward. Inevitably, the fingers would snatch her. It didn't bother her though. They all grew jaded to it.

 


	2. The thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers club had subsequently received some side affects from the clown fight, fated in some kind of soulmate bond. Pros and cons of that relationship are represented, mostly cons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite this chapter two times because the first draft killed itself. It got me riled up but I then remade it! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

An audible imaginary slap echoed in the gang's mind as they held their foreheads in visible pain. It kept happening, day after day the anxious redhead kept slamming her hand on her face out of pure anxiety and fear. Marsh had sworn on her cigarettes at lunch during school, staring in each of the gang's eyes, determined to stop with her 'addiction'. But Beverly Marsh was unable to flip her 'slapping herself' switch off, it seemed stuck and unable to move. 

It was (y/n) (l/n) that called a reunion, a thing that happened time to time for the losers club. This 'reunion' usually would take place in Denbrough's garage, a wide, softly lit, room. The girl rushed out of her house, lucky enough to not encounter her mother, the cold night-wind nipped at her exposed skin as she was wearing a quite revealing outfit (she believed she didn't have time to change out of her sleeping outfit, which consisted in shorts and a tight shirt). She bit back the small tinge of remorse that ghosted her mind for not snatching a coat to 'protect' her from the cold.

The (h/c) haired girl had arrived at the stuttering boy's residence, she made her way towards the garage and unlocked it, like the rest of the losers club, she owned the key to the garage to spend her time there whenever she needed it. Holy shit, did she need it at times. It was like a private panic room, even if it was home to some displeasing memories, it was felt comforting in some odd way.

The rest of the gang arrived except Beverly Marsh, they all looked extremely exhausted, well it was 2 am. None of them seemed to grunt about the girl's call of the sudden reunion, they seemed to already know what was going to happen probably because they had talked about Marsh's problem beforehand. Both Uris and (l/n) dropped their heavy tired bodies on the comfortable couch while the other three makes stood up to challenge each other in a stare off.

"What the fuck are we going to do about that slapping" Richie spoke up, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He quickly started to pick up on quite an annoying habit, walking around in circles and grunting loudly. 

They all shared a look, a worried look flashed in their eyes. They truly didn't know what to do about the situation, perhaps hashing out once again ideas on the whiteboard would help. Yes, they have had such reunions for this situation multiple times. 

"Beep beep Richie" Eddie hushed, tapping his foot rapidly on the concrete. It was another small habit of Eddie, the foot tapping, to make when anxious and it could seriously peeve the gang some time. Eddie stepped closer to his dark haired mate, not adding anything verbally but just attempting to show his concern through his eyes. Words weren't always Kaspbrak's fort. 

"Jesus Christ dude, I want to just have a normal fucking rest" Tozier shouted, sinking his fingers in his dark curls and pulling them in a rather aggressive way. He kept circling the room like a predator observing his preys, a lion hungrily glaring at a pack of zebras. The poor kid was just tired out of his mind, couldn't fall asleep normally without feeling a sting of some kind of pain run through his body, no he just simply didn't enjoy the fact he could feel the rest of the gang's pain. Don't get him wrong, the dark haired 18 year old enjoyed the deep bond he had forged with his 'friends', he loved them. His love for them kept growing, as cheesy as that sounded, he never felt alone with them, they delivered the attention he craved daily. His parents absence in his young years stunned him in a way that made him needy for any remote physical touch, he sounded pathetic sometimes at how he reacted to a simple pat to his head. 

"We all want that" Stan snapped, massaging his exhausted face, he too couldn't handle sleeping less hours than his body needed. He rested his face in his hands, his shoulders rising ever so often as he exhaled and inhaled, give this child a rest damnit. 

"Exactly" Bill huffed, plopping himself on the couch, resting his head on the blond haired Jew's lap, swinging his legs on (y/n)'s thighs. He quietly pondered what he was supposed to do for his girlfriend, what was the most logical yet 'in a non cold way' to approach this situation. Fun fact, Marsh had actually stopped slapping herself at some point, replacing her hand with a pillow that resulted in attempting to suffocate screams of anger on the soft object. For some reason she dropped this other habit of hers, returning to her violent antics. (since bringing the pillow around be harder and weirder to the eye, pinching yourself in public isn't always seen by others, so she would just poke herself out of frustration and then at home go big)

(Y/n)'s eyes quietly flickered around the room to stare at her partners, observing and mentally taking polaroids of them because quite frankly they looked stunning. She shrugged off for a second her mental praise for their looks and attempted to focus on the task at hand, furrowing her eyebrows as her mind started to shit out any sort of thing that could remotely resemble an idea. She hummed under her breath to herself in a soft tone, a small insignificant habit of hers that meant she was: 'in the zone'. 

"Should we pull out the whiteboard?" Eddie questioned, his eyes filled with anxious and his body reflected that feeling. His obnoxious floor tapping was echoing in the room, bouncing off the walls and filling the silent room up. 

"Sure" The jokester snapped, fumbling his way towards the whiteboards hideout, pulling it out from behind the wardrobe. He was, luckily, prepared for this kind of situation and pulled out a black permanent marker from his shorts. This was usually unlikely of him, Richie Tozier remembering to bring things with himself of some value to the situation? Never. But from the quantities of times that this scenario had repeated itself, it was bashed in his head that a marker was always needed. 

Eddie sarcastically gasped at the sight of the marker, again it wasn't Tozier's fort to bring stuff like that around. 

"If anyone has any ideas, please, please, please, for the love of god fucking speak up" Richie groaned, flipping his head backwards accompanied by his dark curls that bounced softly around his head. He blinked slowly at the gang, shoving down their throats via body movements how drained he was.You could see how dead inside he was by the missing jokes in his talking.

The losers glance at each other, sharing a moment of silence and hard thinking. The jew folded his bottom lip, biting it, his long fingers pulling the stutter boy's soft locks to calm himself. Stan wasn't quite sure how to handle such a situation, his ideas usually ended evaporating in the air or just sliding down the toilet roll never be seen again. (Y/n) coughed loudly, in a subtle way to break such a drawn out silence.

"I just think we should be persistent, we should stay next to her as much as we can at school and try to stop her from doing ' _the thing_ ' She spoke up, air quitting 'the thing'. This 'thing' seemed to be thrown around like some ' _hot potato disease_ '(now that doesn't make much sense but please bare with me, I need hits on this fic, make me archive famous), everyone passed around the word like a literal hot potato that could transmit some death inducing sickness. Wow, what a clever metaphor, no? But it felt exactly like that, some shitty thing that kept falling in their hands and it hurt. It hurt in more than a physical way. She turned her head around to look for physical approval in her idea from her mate's, she searched for the approval in their eyes.

The class clown raised his marker, pressing the tip of it on the whiteboard writing a summary of what the girl said. _'Stick around with Beverly a lot'._ Richie tore his eyes off from what he had just write down, snapping his fingers around in front of the gang's eyes to catch their attention and press them to blurt out ideas.

"We could make some sort of schedule? Some of us could even take Beverly home and spend time at her house?" Eddie spat out anxiously, knitting his eyebrows as if he was questioning what he said himself. His for kept bouncing up and down from the pavement, his head started to bob alongside the unspoken rhythm. 

Yet again, everyone shared a look, this time the look was identifiable as a stare of approval. The rest of the gang could just assault the fanny pack boy with kisses, because they all knew quiet well that he would do all the scheduling while the others pitched ideas he had to organise himself. 

"Sounds like a plan Eds" Richie approved, grinning a tad as his tired eyes brightened up a tad. He comically flew a kiss towards Eddie, batting his eye lashes quickly attempting to seem girlish.

The boy in front of him rolled his eyes. He had grown attached to the insufferable nickname his mate had labeled him, not that he had a choice Richie did bash it in at any time of the day so inevitably Eddie did give up trying to push it away, he was 'Eds' forever now. He flipped the bird at the kid that 'got jokes' which received a warm chuckle that made Eddie's stomach flip, no one could argue that Richie had a nice laugh.

_'Keep yourself togheter, Kaspbrak'_

Eddie gulped down a lump of saliva that was, for some mysterious reason, in limbo within his throat. He shook his head, snapping out of his train of thoughts, derailing it back on the right track. Time to get to business.

The rest of the night was spent with pitching ideas, a lot of ideas and some raunchy jokes thrown here and there. There was a lot of Eddie acting mom like, fixing everything and making everything work the way it was 'meant to'. Even if the Eddie spaghetti man would never confessed it, he liked the control he had that night, liked that everyone was leaning on his verbally and mentally, to put it simple he liked the attention he was given. Oh, and he absolutely adored the praise he was given, that was just another little fact, the cherry on top his milkshake. And let's not forget how they touched him, petted him, caressed him, felt like his community service was really paid off, his work was something to be thanked for and did he get thanked.

The night ended in some sad attempt to an orgy, initiated by sloppy kisses gifted to Eddie, praising him like a God with their bodies as offerings (odd way to put it, but take it as it is). It was the exhausted  (y/n) that had discovered the boy's boner, so of course, a nice sweet innocent idea surfaced in her mind. Well, everything really didn't go as planned, imagine five teens trying to have some hot steaming sex at 5 am while borderline mentally passing out. Everything sorta hurt, not physically, more like mentally. Hard to process things when you're beyond tired.

So they ended up half naked on the iconic couch. The fanny pack boy with his pants to his ankles, broken zipper but he still held his boxers to his nether regions like a true virgin (not that he was, just roll with it). Richie laid, half dead looking, on Eddie's thighs without his shirt, his extremely pale chest exposed to the world, and by the world I mean the other four people in the room (since they were his world practically, cheesy.). Stan was peacefully resting his face on Tozier's sweet ass, he was quite the mormon (no, he wasn't) so laying there only without his socks on, was quite provocative, no? The stuttering boy was curled up in the (y/c/h) haired girl's arms, he too was proudly powered walking in his mind without his physical shirt. (Y/n) was the founder of said failed orgy, wearing only her tank top and undergarments, going comando and owning her messy hair.

Lovely.

 "Well, that went terribly" The girl stated plainly, eying her partners one by one. Maybe next time, when the whole ordeal was more organised something could actually end well in a satisfying way.

"I had fun" The trash mouth chimed in, grinning at the other fellow humans on the room. He accidently rolled off the couch, ending up striking the icey cold pavement.

"Fuck!" Everyone yelled in unison as they held the back of their head tightly.

Let's not the forget about the thing.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about any grammatical mistakes!!

**Author's Note:**

> Please do give me feedback on this shit story, if there is anything you dislike and find that I could correct please do tell me! If you have any plot suggestions do give them, woudnt mind some help with this story!


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